A Bride to Redeem Him

He let the question wash over him as her blinks gave way to the first silent tears. He carried her out of the door, up the grand, sweeping staircase and to her room. And he let her hold onto him as if she would never let go as he settled her on the bed, nodded wordlessly when she begged him not to leave her, lay down beside her and cradled her as sobs racked her, crying for probably the first time in decades. Finally allowing herself to grieve for the things she’d lost as well as the things she’d never had. Finally letting go after years of trying to build bridges with her father and holding her feelings inside.

And when the tears at last began to ebb and the hiccups subside, when, exhausted and depleted, her eyes tired and swollen, sleep crept over her, he continued to hold her. Long after the house fell silent and the fire died in the hearth. Long into the night until the tendrils of slumber wisped around him. Right into the first hints of light and the sounds of the dawn chorus.

As his eyes began to open again, Louis tipped his head from one side to the other to ease the crick in his neck. After last night he ought to feel drained. Wary, even. Instead, he just felt as though a weight had finally been lifted from him. Hearing Alex share her story with him and knowing she hadn’t told anyone else had changed things for him somehow.

Suddenly, he no longer felt the isolation he’d never realised he’d been experiencing. His brain was fired up with renewed drive. An energy effervescing in blood that coursed eagerly through his veins. If he could only work out what to do with it.

He’d spent years playing genius, playboy Louis, convinced there was a reason that he was renowned for his surgical skills on the one hand and his sexual prowess on the other. But the truth was that he’d been little different from any other nineteen-year-old kid with money and women throwing themselves at him. The only thing that set him apart was the name he’d been forging for himself in the surgical field.

The press had only jumped on the playboy story because it had sold more papers for them. And he’d let them because it had seemed easier. Because it had been convenient. But Alex made him want something different. Something...more.

Maybe, and he wasn’t saying definitely, taking on the role of Chairman of the Lefebvre Group was something he should consider. Maybe he and Alex could make their sham marriage work for them, and pull together to really achieve something good. Maybe their marriage could be more than just... No, that was going too far.

But still they could make a good business team. No one else could ever have dared to talk to her the way he had last night. He, in turn, could never have trusted anyone else with the truths he’d told her this past week.

Easing his hand from under her neck, Louis slid off the bed, covering her with a blanket and taking his time so as not to disturb her. The hot, powerful jets of the shower sluiced over his body and, with it, any residual anhedonia of the previous night, of the previous decade.

He barely brushed the towel over his body before pulling on jeans and a tee, clothes that he hadn’t worn in years but which welcomed him from the back of his burr-walnut wardrobe. Louis snatched up his phone, his fingers scrolling efficiently through old contact numbers. With a final glance at Alex’s sleeping form, he slipped out of the room.

* * *

It was well into the morning before Alex appeared, having tracked him down to where he was meeting someone in the east wing drawing room. She looked as deliciously fresh and bewitching as

ever. He forced himself not to stare at her.

‘I’m sorry.’ She backed up immediately. ‘I didn’t realise you were in a meeting.’

‘Don’t leave.’ He waved his hand immediately to beckon her over. ‘Étienne is just leaving, we were finishing up anyway.’

She only hesitated for a moment before advancing with a sweet smile, her hand outstretched in greeting as the man dropped a light kiss on her hand, making his introductions and apologies as he excused himself to run to another meeting.

‘Étienne Morel is a lawyer. His father was my mother’s personal lawyer, who never had much time for Jean-Baptiste.’

‘You’re looking into what Brigitte said last night,’ she breathed, the expectation dancing in her eyes almost too much for him to stand.

‘I’m making tentative enquiries, shall we say,’ he cautioned. ‘I cannot promise anything. I will not promise. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Alex. I am simply...weighing the options.’

He could see by her body language that his words were falling on deaf ears but her delight got under his skin in a way that wasn’t prudent and, if only for a short while, he gave in to the temptation of indulging her.

‘Étienne’s also looking into finding the Lefevbre Group tie-in with the Delaroche Foundation—maybe fresh eyes can see a loophole. In the meantime, he found the plans Brigitte mentioned easily enough. The idea was to convert the old stables into small holiday apartments for disabled people and carers. They already had made provisions for wheelchair access and additional security features.’

He waited with a strange tenseness as she perused the drawings, her finger tracing every last inch of space, her soft voice reading the French aloud, translating.

‘Right. Accessibility but with more practicalities. This could be safety gates, well-fenced gardens, and ensuring doors and windows can be locked to prevent any little Houdinis.’

‘Perhaps building a couple of swimming pools but ensuring they were both secured.’

‘Perfect.’ The look she sent him pulled straight down to his sex. He thrust it away. ‘For some families it might be more about assuring them that they’re coming somewhere safe and secure, and assuring them they can relax in the knowledge that no one is going to be judging them.’

‘I also considered respite holidays,’ he said, searching her expression.

‘Proper respite holidays?’ Alex asked slowly. ‘Where the carers also get a proper holiday, not just a bit of break?’

‘Why not?’ he challenged. ‘We could offer twenty-four-hour nursing care, attracting qualified, highly experienced nursing and care staff if we refurbished the west wing of the house and turned it into high-spec accommodation. Furthermore, this estate has always provided plenty of work for the surrounding communities, and the decline since my father took over has hit people around here hard. We could also run annual courses to train suitable locals or anyone else willing to come here.’

‘You could offer quality hospitality,’ she mused. ‘A relaxed atmosphere with plenty of excursions and lively entertainment?’

‘Right.’